The Truth Will Tear You Down
by Laraqua
Summary: Miles must struggle with the madness that accompanies being the Walrider's host as he makes his way out of one Murkoff Research Facility only to find himself drawn into another when he dons the uniform of an MRF guard so he can escape the cordon. Along the way he makes a few tentative alliances with wannabe deserters who know nothing about his true situation.(Happy for suggestions)
1. Chapter 1

I kept my arm raised in front of me, trying to ward off the thousand little bits of grit and hundreds of autumn leaves that were picked up and swirled by the … what? The Walrider? Was it still with me? Would it follow me beyond these gates? I paused by the guard station and looked sidelong as it, worried that if I so much as turned my head the swarm would do more than peel the paint from the walls. It had already slid one of the trucks across the dirt road simply at my approach.

It had almost taken out my own car, now stolen. I almost felt bad about close I had staggered toward it and the chance that the occupant had almost had his flesh scoured from his bones but to be honest I was too tired to care.

Besides, it was _my_ car that was stolen. _My_ ride out of here.

At least I had all of my fingers intact.

I paused my train of thoughts about the thief, worried that my anger would knock me into a faint and allow the Walrider to coalesce and take out my rage onto the thief. The thief had been dressed like a patient, but without any tumours or surgical scars, and there was no reason to be angry with him … even though he had stolen my ride.

Which is exactly what I would have done in his place.

I felt the anger ease and exhaled slowly, breathing in through clenched teeth to keep the grit out of my mouth. My fingers. Focus on my fingers. They were back, regrown, just as my lungs had expelled their blood and bullets, tended to by the nano swarm to keep me up and moving. I'd seen the soldiers' deaths. I'd felt their blood splatter me, mingle with my own.

I hope I hadn't caught anything from them.

Anything beyond Walrider-it is.

I chuckled but even that weak form of laughter caught in my throat. I was the host of a monster. Something so desperate to kill, or was it me who was desperate to kill, that even while I was unconscious it slew everything except that damn doctor. Some lingering desire by Billy Hope to keep the old man alive or perhaps just my own assumption it wouldn't kill him?

An assumption that hadn't stopped me from picking up the gun when my lungs had knit themselves together. I think he was glad in the end. The swarm had picked his skin apart, tearing in a maelstrom around me, even as I pulled the trigger.

I still don't know if I killed him.

I don't know anything about guns.

I'd staggered my way up to the foyer, falling ever so often to unleash the Walrider to stalk through the halls to clear my way. My fault? The Walrider's own desires? Where did I end and the Walrider began? Or was I simply mad and there was no Walrider anymore?

I hoped I was just mad.

I took a deep breath between gritted teeth, swallowed grit-infused saliva, and kept on my slow staggering walk. Maybe I could find another vehicle that wasn't as badly damaged as this truck. Maybe I'd find my own damn car….

I felt the Walrider surge forward and pulled it back with difficulty. Holding it in check was kind of like fighting to stay conscious when every muscle and tendon screamed for sleep. Perhaps it was the same thing.

One foot, then the next. Over and over. Endless repetition. Each footfall devoured a little more dirt road and brought me a little closer to freedom.

Freedom … like this?

Hatred surged. I held it in check.

A sound caught my ears over the dull static-hiss-roar of the Walrider in my blood. An engine … a large engine … a vehicle. I couldn't pinpoint the noise. Too tired. Too scared.

I tried to stumble to the side of the road, shocked by the sudden stillness around me. My left hand, thankfully whole, gripped the side of a tree trunk as I swung myself around and behind it, falling into a trembling squat.

A truck. The scraped truck. Still in action. It rushed back down the dirt path.

_No … No…._

No escape.

Not for them.

Not for me.

I felt the anger well up in me, a piercing wail between the tempers, and I stepped out in front of the truck, staring it down. Let the Walrider 'protect' me.

The truck raced forth, left wheels falling into a rut. They wouldn't stop. The monsters … they would never stop.

I felt myself start to black out. Fell to one knee. What am I doing? Why am I trying to kill people?

I fell to one side, started to crawl away, out of the way. Can't use the Walrider this way. Need to keep it quiet, keep it quiescent. Damnit, it had finally subsided. It might not even be here!

No time to get away. The truck was too close.

Then it braked. It braked and for a moment I was staring up at the grille in this bright new dawn and I felt my gut clench with fear. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to get shot again. Maybe it had fallen away, finally dissipated, and I was defenceless and even if I wasn't I didn't want to hear their screams.

I waited, down on one knee, staring at an unlit headlight, and heard one of the truck doors slide open and a figure get out.

"Whoa, Red, wait for backup!" called a male voice.

I could see him. The Walrider. He was there on top of the truck. He was ready. I was ready. Were we the same? The buzz intensified. I dropped to the dirt, clutched my head, felt myself behind his eyes, felt him move towards the soldier that ran out toward me.

_Miles…_

My name. I felt grateful hearing my name as though it had come rushing down through the ages. A female voice. I didn't recognise it.

_Miles … Mein gott!_

Another voice, barely heard, another soldier coming out of the truck. _She's gone German. That's never good. We should know this guy?_

_Miles Upshur, can you hear me? _The soldier reached up and the Walrider snapped into position behind her back.

I managed to lift my head, to see myself staring back at me, ready to plunge a hand that wasn't a hand between the shoulder blades to end this enemy. Yet I didn't want to do it. Didn't want to kill. I just wanted to get away.

I tried to tell them, warn them, scream for them to go away.

The soldier removed her helmet. Short curly brown hair. An angular face a little too masculine to be pretty. Bright grey eyes. _You don't know me but I know you._

"Go away," I croaked. At least my voice felt real, sounded real to my own ears, but I wasn't loud enough.

_We have to go,_ said the other soldier, lifting his gun but pointing it in the wrong direction, toward the trees, back up the road. He didn't see it. They couldn't see the danger in their midst. The Walrider. Me.

_We'll take him with us,_ she said and she came forward with arms outstretched and no matter how quickly I tried to crawl away she gained on me and I saw the Walrider grab her arm and wrench it, flinging her aside. She'd been halfway through saying my name, so she screamed the end of it.

That woke me up.

"What the hell was that thing?" asked the guy soldier with her.

"I think we just met what ripped those guys up," she said, looking around but not looking at me. Thankfully. They hadn't worked me out yet.

"Look, we deserting or what?" asked a third guy, wheeling down the side front window.

"We're deserting," she said, clutching at her dislocated shoulder. "We're taking the journo with us and we're getting out of here." She hissed between her teeth, the pain fighting through the adrenaline and clearly winning. "Green, pop it back in for me?"

The guy soldier behind her did so. His arm band showed him as a medic. Then he came forward towards me and hauled me to my feet. "Ay up," he said, and I realised he had a Yorkshire accent.

"They take you guys from everywhere," I said breathlessly. It'd been so long since I'd spoken. Even my voice felt creaky.

"Yeah, MRF's a bitch like that," said the medic.

"All the better to split us from our families," said the passenger guy. "We need to get going, else we'll be late to my very important dinner date."

"Sorry," said the medic, bustling me into the back of the truck. "But we need to go. Only got a small window before they send reinforcements to help out the reinforcements."

"How did you survive?" I asked, reporter instincts clicking on as I sat down on one of the benches.

"We should ditch our helmets, they might be listening in on us," said the main passenger.

"Shut up, Blue," said Red with a smirk as she sat down next to me. "If that's the case, we're already done for."

"She's always so inspiringly optimistic," said Blue. "You'll get to know that."

"We survived, I think, because when things started hitting the fan and that thing started creeping around tearing folks apart, Red here decided revenge was the best policy and she double tapped Johannson in the head. I think the _thing_ liked us doing that and decided to leave us to mop ourselves up."

"He deserved it," said Red. "Goddamn mole."

"We're all meant to be moles on each other," said Greene, smirking. "Company policy."

"Yeah, think it's number 1.8," said Blue. "Right below company values which include, and I quote, 'sadism, compliance and an ability to treat humans worse than animals'."

"We're bitter," said Red.

"A little bitter," agreed Blue.

"This wasn't what we signed up for."

"Appreciate it if you could include that in your article," said Blue.

"Maybe miss out on the double tap thing," said Red.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good on her permanent record."

"Who are you people?" I asked, more than a little overwhelmed. "And where were you a few hours ago?" That thought made me a little angry. All that I'd gone through, getting shot, everything, and here were some sympathetic MRF people who could've helped me out.

The truck rocked a little. A glimpse of vision from beneath the truck.

I clasped my hands together. "Keep it together, Miles," I whispered between gritted teeth. I didn't trust them but they were my best shot out of here and I really didn't want to be alone again, surrounded by blood.

"How'd you get in there anyhow?" asked Blue. "You get kidnapped and made into one of them patients?"

"Didn't you blog yesterday?" asked Red.

I frowned at her. Was it only yesterday? "I … yes." Wait a minute. "You read my blog?"

"Yeah, all the time. I make sure to report back to my superiors whenever you mention the MRF so I don't get screwed but I definitely read the one journo who looks the most into Murkoff."

The truck rocked again, harder this time, as the anger burbled up. "You reported on me!"

"Where'd you learn how to drive?" spat Blue.

"Afghanistan." The driver chuckled. "To be honest, whatever whacked this car must've done something underneath. The road looks pretty clear to me. I don't know what's doing it."

"They already knew all about you," said Red. "They checked on your blog often enough. I kept thinking they'd nab you but reading the blog showed me they hadn't. I didn't get access to your newspapers, though, so I couldn't follow you there."

"No, I wasn't a patient," I said, my voice a little too bitter even for my own ears. I probably should be a patient, somewhere, doped up or dead. I shivered. It was so damn cold in here. Or maybe that was just me. "I got an email from a whistleblower inside the facility so I came down here to check it out. I was already in the area round abouts so it only took me a few hours to reach this place."

"You get much footage on that thing?" she asked, pointing a finger at my battered camera.

I looked down at the thing sitting in its hoister and smiled. "I can't believe I still have it. I'd thought I'd dropped when the Wal-" I paused and shot a look at her face but it still seemed sympathetic rather than suspicious. "That thing almost took me down as well. I must've grabbed the camera up again or maybe I'd never dropped it…. I can't really remember. I'd hit my head so it'd all gotten a bit blurry at that point."

The truck went silent for a long moment. I shivered again. Maybe this was just a friendly form of interrogation. Maybe they were taking me to their bosses.

"Sounds like we've got something to keep 'em busy for awhile," said Green.

"Booyah!" said Blue, thrusting his fist in the air.

"I told you we had to pick him up," said Red, reaching over and giving my hand a quick squeeze.

Maybe this'd work out, after all. So long as I kept everything in check.


	2. Chapter 2

We drove in silence for a few minutes before Blue called out for the driver to stop the truck. It was good he'd done so, because I was starting to get flashes of imagery across my vision which reminded me of the 'short film' I was shown in the cinema. I was so tired. I needed sleep.

I also really wanted to avoid it.

The truck stopped and Blue hopped out, thunking on the side door twice until Green slid it open. Blue pointed at me and gestured for me to get out, moments before adjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder. My heart skipped a beat, the static hum screaming, but then he tipped his helmet back and gave me a wink, which made me feel kind of stupid and paranoid.

"Why're we stopping?" asked Red.

"Found any other journos?" asked the driver.

"Found one of our own, dead," said Blue. "Not to worry. It's Dickerson, the dick! Looks like someone snapped his neck, or he snapped his neck running. Important thing is that we can get out easier if our journo's uniformed up."

I shuddered again. I'd been fantasizing about a change of clothes since I first slipped up in the muck but a dead man's uniform hadn't been what I'd had in mind. "Why would that help?"

Red smiled, seeming to suddenly get it. "We can lie our way past our apparent desertion but not if we've picked up the people we were supposed to kill." She got up and unslung her rifle, or whatever it was (I'd never known much about guns). Hopping out of the truck, she popped down her helmet and took a look around, the gun pointing where she faced.

Blue dragged the corpse into sight and gestured emphatically for me to get out. I did so, with a heavy heart. I really didn't want to peer the gore-slick clothing off my body until I could get into a shower, let alone step into someone else's gear. At least he looked about my size. That was something, at least. His helmet was horribly dented. Maybe the Walrider found him before he'd found me? Best not to think about that.

"Underwear and all," said Blue. "We have regulation standard. Best go all the way."

It took longer to strip the corpse, due to rigor mortis setting in, than for me to take my kit off. Red didn't bother looking away to give me any modesty nor did she check me out. I don't know why but that bugged me a little. It was good to just suddenly be a part of the group, which was probably what her idly ignoring me meant, but it also made me feel a little less … human? As though I were just wallpaper.

Maybe because in my world it would just be damn impolite and I was desperately eager to return to my world.

It was only when Blue was slipping my shirt on the corpse that my mistake became apparent.

"Eh?" said Blue. "You already swapped garb?" He pointed to the bullet holes that riddled the shirt that had been mostly invisible under all the clotted blood that had covered my chest.

"Yeah, something like that," was all I could mutter.

Blue gave me a funny look, but Red just picked up the dead guy's rifle and gave it to me. "No, like this," she said when I held it wrong, correcting the way I wore and held it. I gave her a grateful look. Maybe I'd get out of here anyway.

We got back on the truck and kept driving until the dirt became asphalt. I wasn't surprised to see the cordon, though I was amazed to see the plastic sheeting draped off the ten foot high poles and the searchlights. Bit hard to keep this quiet, surely. Also made me wonder if they had cordoned off the whole mountain. The idea of just how much the whole thing would cost to glad wrap the mountain made me snort with laughter, drawing me worried looks from the others.

I took the memory disk from my camera and threw the device out the window as we rounded some shrubbery. It pained me to lose my camera, broken as it was, but I needed to keep the memory card on me. If there was one thing left to keep me moving in this world, other than a Walrider intent on keeping me alive, it was the card.

A man in uniform hailed the car down while others pointed their guns at us. I couldn't help but cower a little on the bench, wondering if the Walrider could keep me alive through a hailfire of bullets or if the Walrider were even here anymore. Sadly enough its absence made me afraid rather than relieved which showed what kind of a life I'd been living so far.

"You're not meant to be here, soldier," said the man via a microphone. "You're meant to be securing Mount Massive and retrieving the doctor. Why are all your headsets off in turn?"

Red left the truck through the sliding door and came around the front, which let me still see her. If she were to betray me at any point, it would be now. "I ordered our retreat, sir."

"You have no authority to do that," said the man.

"I've retrieved vital information on the situation," said Red. "The patients are most certainly in charge of the place and they seem to be getting back up from some … entity."

The man sneered at her. "Entity?"

"Yes, sir." She paused to look back at the truck but her eyes didn't seek mine out, which was good, they looked at the driver instead. "The entity seemed to be tracking our signals to determine where we were, or so I surmised. I turned off our signals and we were no longer hunted by the entity. Since we couldn't risk sending a message over the air lest it be intercepted or draw the entity to us I thought it necessary to return with the survivors of my team and one survivor from Gold Team to ensure that you were suitably advised of this precaution."

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was maintaining my cover.

The man's sneer dropped away and he looked at Red with a brief flash of respect before his expression grew triumphant and more than a little greedy. Maybe he saw his bonus when he looked at her. "Good choice. I underestimated you." Then he paused. "Or perhaps I didn't. We were advised not to send a mixed gender team into Mount Massive but I took the risk."

"Risk, sir?" asked Red.

He nodded. "Nothing, serious, but you will need to have a full medical in seven days time."

"The fuck," muttered Blue.

"For now, though, you need to all step out of the truck and head on to the debriefing center," said the man in charge. "We have a bus waiting just outside the perimeter."

Red nodded, then turned and gestured to her men.

_Fuck…_

I felt the fear coil within me and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to stand but Green grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet, manhandling me through the door and then I was down in the light, surrounded by guns, feeling more exposed than ever before. I self-consciously adjusted my rifle, straightened my back, and followed my new found 'friends' through a door in the plastic to the armour plated bus that waited just beyond the cordon.

So much for going home.


	3. Chapter 3

**If anyone would like to put forward suggestions in the reviews then I'll consider incorporating them into the story. I can't promise it'd turn out the way you expected but I'll see what I can do.**

We were all silent on that bus ride. Each taking up a window seat, except for me. I sat by the aisle at the back of the bus. I know I should have been looking out the window to try and see where we were going but I just didn't have the heart to have my hopes and dreams shattered again and again. Seeing a police car, or even a regular person, would be much like a repeat of that moment when the elevator had stopped at the ground floor by the open doors only to submerge me into the hell that was the basement laboratory.

At least there was light here. Small consolation as that was.

No one had searched me. That was something. I still had that memory card in one of the many pockets that were liberally sewn in around my bulletproof vest. I just hoped I could fake my way through this situation. I didn't even remember if I was meant to have a name. Henderson? No, that was the Marine in one of them aliens movies. Johansson? Yeah, that was it.

I stared down at the floor, teeth gritted, but I didn't feel the fear in my chest. I felt it in the many little trembles that assaulted my body. My hands shook so hard I had to grip my knees tight enough to make the knuckles go white just to stop them.

Movement in the aisle. I looked up as Blue looked back at me and shot me the finger. That made me smile. The man was ludicrous. I hoped he didn't die.

Somewhere ahead a truck moved out of the way. Still on the highway. Heading where?

No, best not to ask.

Red was in the aisle. I hadn't really noticed her. She stood so still for a moment that I had looked right past her. Was that was it was like for those other variants when they'd looked at me?

She came back towards me, pushed past my knee and sat down to my right. She put an elbow on her knee and stared at me until I looked her in the eye. Then she looked away. She didn't flinch, not exactly, but I had the feeling I had something in my eye that made her worried. Madness, probably. I felt mad.

"Johansson, you're new here and odds are your squad is dead," said Red. "Better get used to us being some of the few people, if not the only people, who know who you are. Maybe if this medical checkup goes well for me, I might be able to get you on this squad to replace Dickerson."

I stared at her blankly for a moment, then realised she was briefing me.

"We get a lot of new people," said Red. "Many of them get moved around until they're found a nice facility they like or that likes them. I know it sucks not knowing many folks but maybe we can take a moment on this bus to get to know each other."

Blue was still looking back over the chair. He waggled his eyebrows up and down and mouthed something about me being lucky … or getting lucky? Red flipped him off. She must've caught the motion out of the corner of her eye.

"We go by colours in our unit because we're lazy," she said. "You ain't earned a colour yet. Blue's our best shot so he's called blue because he never does blue on blue. Green's our medic since green are go. You get that? No, guess it wouldn't make sense to you. Our driver's Yellow 'cause of how he loves to sit on his ass and shut his mouth. He deals with the electronics where necessary, explosive too. He may be a big guy but he'll outrun anyone. Pretty sneaky, too. And me? I'm Red because I can sense it coming."

I blinked at her. "Sense _what_ coming?"

She stared at me for a moment. "Bad things. Bad people. I got a sixth sense like you wouldn't believe."

I wanted to ask her what she sensed about me but I didn't dare. Odds are she was just confident in her abilities or maybe her nickname was because of her temper or something. Still the way she started looking at me made me shiver. It was probably all in my head … Paranoia … but I couldn't help but wonder.

What if she knew?

What would she _do?_

"I'd get some sleep if I were you," said Red. "Might be your only chance."

I shook my head, too tired to laugh. Sleep was a terrible idea that, like all terrible ideas that happen around Murkoff Institute, was certainly coming for me. I could feel it singing its siren song in the back of my head. Why not? Why not sleep? Maybe then I'd wake up in a broken bus ready to go. Wouldn't now be the best time? Wouldn't now work out for me?

But I didn't want to see these guys smeared across the pavement. Not Red who saved me. Not Blue who made me laugh. So I had to keep awake.

I had to….

Red put both hands on my shoulders and tilted me back into the bus seat. I felt myself falling into the sweet oblivion of sleep as soon as my head hit the head rest.

_Flashes of images. Lights. Snatches of sounds. Everything warped and bended around me. Coalescing sights. Blood as a smell that caught at my nose. Female bus driver, menstruating. The hormonal stench nicer than the death-dark-decay of my own clothing. Testosterone pulsing in all around me, especially the men, especially the sleeping man. Growth in testosterone. What next? Tumours? Bzzzzt…. Radio crackles and siren sounds zapping through the air and tearing to the others. Phased movement. Here, there…. Darkness, blood, the wet snapping of flesh draped bone. Why not? Containment has failed. Why not? More of those images superimposed of the world around me. Then the world is covered in fluorescent-lit underground darkness._

I awaken, surprised to see that everyone isn't dead and that I'm still here. I stare blankly about for a moment at the sudden tension in the air. We're in some kind of facility. White walls with that damn atomic symbol on them. A few soldiers in uniform standing around with their guns idle by their sides. My heart speeds up, fit to burst its way through my damn ribs, and there's a gust of air that whips out and makes the few soldiers in the bus start paying attention. Blue, Green, Yellow, Red all look about. They might remember that scene by the truck. They might think it's me.

I try to look as helpless as I feel, which seems to work, because Red grabs me by the upper arm and jerks me to my feet like I'm a traumatised soldier and she's my boss. I head down the aisle and my eyes feel so wide with fear I'm worried I'll split the skin. I go out through the doors and look around. It's almost like a damn clone of the basement of that other facility, minus the blood.

"You ever been here before?" asks Red in a murmur as she passes Blue.

"No, ma'am," he mutters.

We're all silent as a man in a labcoat approaches and walks past us ever so slowly, ticking things off on a checklist he's got on his infernal iPad or whatever it is. I kind of want to tear it out of his hands and brain him with it but the men with the guns make me think that might not be such a good idea.

"Anna, I've heard you've been exposed to the Morphogenic Engine," says the scientist in even tones, his eyes raking over her with a kind of eagerness I haven't seen since Trager.

"I thought containment had failed because that thing went down," says another scientist, a short woman who nearly needs to skip to keep up with the other scientist's longer stride.

"It ceased afterwards," said the scientist. His name badge identified him as Dr. Avade. "Of course, such a minor exposure may mean nothing as it took awhile for the other female employees to gain symptoms but it is worth an examination particularly as she had been close to the Walrider and that might speed up the process."

I felt a little faint. Some terrible process targeting women? Something worsened by proximity to … well, to me, maybe? I shot her a startled and guilty look. Surely not. Surely I wouldn't be so damned as to cause … what? Tumours? I wanted to ask but Dr. Avade didn't seem the answering type.

Red simply looked bored but that might have been a cover. "Best get the medical underway then."

"Yes, absolutely," said Dr. Avade. "We'll need to keep you under observation for a few weeks. You understand."

She flashed him a bright smile. "Naturally, best make sure there's nothing wrong with me."

Blue gave her a look like she was dead already.

"Maybe I could provide assistance?" offered Green.

Dr. Avade gave him an amused look. "If we need to bandage a bullet wound, I'll call you." He turned back to Red. "Right this way." With that, he turned on his heel and walked off with the short scientist near bounding to keep up with him.

Red gave them all a cheerful smile and a little wave before setting off after him.

All I could do was watch and have a dozen different images of the Mount Massive Asylum play out before my very eyes. Corpses with their legs in slings. Patients beating against the bars. Muzzles and straightjackets and the reek of desperation, fear and piss. This place looked more sterile than Mount Massive Asylum but so did that asylum's basement. Who knew what the holding cells would look like here? Who knew what would happen to her?

I wanted to do something, but I didn't know what. I didn't want to be here at the beginning of another clusterfuck. I didn't want to be here while it all proceeded smoothly either. I didn't want to know one of the patients and be there as she was taken away and I didn't want to be the potential cause of whatever it was they would explore her for.

Only the memory stick in my pocket kept me from screaming.

So I stood as still as I could and focused on my breathing and followed the others as they led me through a few winding passageways past laboratories whose thick plexiglass windows revealed scientists in full suits examining things under microscopes. We passed through a set of sliding doors into a purge gate and it took me a moment to realise the threat before the green gas blew in to sterilise us.

The Walrider couldn't pass through these purge gates. If the Walrider were me or with me then what would that mean. I looked over my shoulder but I couldn't see anything past the steel gates that were briefly closed while we were sterilised.

If they were using the same decontamination systems here, did that mean there _was_ another Morphogenic Engine here? But didn't they say something about women being unsafe around such devices? I couldn't quite remember all of the details. I was a little too afraid at the time. Still was, really.

The purge gates opened and we continued on through a network of corridors that ended in a series of staff rooms that reminded me of the monastic chambers by the church which had held so many patients knelt in prayer. It looked like these chambers were for the staff here and they were equally spartan. It looked like Murkoff didn't believe in letting their staff individualise their rooms. Probably something to do with reinforcing compliant attitudes.

I didn't think it possible, but somehow that made me hate them more.

We went through further corridors, past bustling staff, through cubicle filled rooms, down and elevator and beneath security cameras which made me bristle with fear that they might have facial recognition software that would identify me as being someone other than Dickenson. I shouldn't have worried. I was still wearing the helmet, though not the faceplace. Still I kept my head down and didn't turn my face to those cameras.

We ended up in a bunk room full of no less than twelve bunk beds, giving us twenty four places in all. Each bed was made to regulation standards. Everything perfect and pristine. How was I to know which bed was meant to be mine, or rather, Dickenson's?

"Looks like we got new digs," said Yellow in his low even tones, before sitting down on the lowest mattress of the newest bunk.

"Aww nuts, how are we meant to know which ones are already taken?" asked Blue. "Everyone always bitches if you grab the wrong bunk."

Yellow simply laid down and stared at the bunk above. His face was impassive but there was a tension in his eyes like he was reviewing his own mental footage and not liking what he saw.

Green shrugged slowly. "Maybe we should hit the gym and work out some nervous tension."

Blue waggled his eyebrows at him. "And here I thought you didn't swing my way."

Green rolled his eyes.

"Don't Ask Don't Tell," said Blue, giving me a genuinely appraising look. I'd never really believed in Gaydar until that moment but in that moment I was pretty sure I pinged his interest in me. What was his type in man? One that looks like shit? Or is riddled with potentially supernatural diseases? The Walrider had to count as a disease.

"So don't tell us," said Green, turning on his heel. "Let's at least shower first."

"Group shower, oh my," said Blue, clapping a hand over his mouth. He was trying too hard. Even I could see that. I started to wonder what would happen if he couldn't act out like this. Would he cry or start shooting everybody?

We no longer had our guns. I realised that with a start. I couldn't remember giving them up but I must have done so. I had to keep it together if I was going to get out of here.

"Showers it is," said Yellow, getting out of his bed as though those words meant something important.

So we headed out again toward the gym and the group showers within.


	4. Chapter 4

**I had my first Outlast dream last night, which was nice. It involved a lot of running and vaulting over things. Anywho, same as before if you've got any suggestions, put them in the reviews and I'll try to incorporate them into the story.**

The warm water stung my cold skin but it was a pleasant sense of stinging. A cleansing process that made me feel almost human again though the flashes of imagery playing out on my closed eyelids every time I blinked tried pretty hard to convince me otherwise. I felt whole. I felt pulled together. I felt angry enough to tear the whole damn building down.

The lights flickered and my eyes snapped open. The last thing I wanted was to give away my position through electrical fluctuations. The Walrider … was it within me? I could almost feel it itching, squirming, twitching and testing the boundaries of my very body. Was it inside me? It had to be. How else did it pass through the purge gates?

I envisioned it seeping out through the pores of my skin and shuddered. The warm water was no longer warm to me. No longer comforting. It seemed the more relaxed I got the more insane I felt. Or maybe I became more sane and my insanity became more apparent? Maybe…. Maybe….

I looked around at the three men who shared these communal showers and I wondered if perhaps they were spies sent to watch me. Pretend to be my friend. Help direct the Walrider. It was possible though you'd think they'd be a little more antsy, a little more nervous of me, and a little less nervous of the guards here. Maybe…. Maybe….

Blue headed over to me and I wondered for a moment if he were going to make a pass at me, but his grin was a little too strained, his head tilt a little too obviously flirtatious. "They can't hear us over the water," he said in a hushed whisper. "We can't all huddle or they'll figure it out. Cameras everywhere. We can't stay here long or they'll notice you. We should hopefully be sent out again soon, probably back to that place. Next time we take down the bus."

They probably should've done that to begin with. It made my stomach churn at the thought that we could've just done that and gotten away. "Why now?" I asked, surprised my voice was rough and sad rather than tough and angry. I sounded like I was winded, like all the fight had been taken out of me. Had it?

"I know, should've gone with that plan but we just didn't expect the chance or…." Blue looked bashful. "We very rarely get to see the outside." He turned his back to show me the blue finch he had tattooed over his right shoulder. "Even these were done by a company tattooist."

Each of his team mates had one that matched their colour. One colourful bird or another. I couldn't help imagining what Red had tattooed there. That had to be a good sign. Something human to think about other than death and Murkoff Industries and the images that flashed across my eyelids. It was probably a robin.

Then the two thoughts coalesced into one as I thought about her on a surgical table, lying on her belly, as Trager started carving chunks out of her body. He was meant to be dead but right now so was I.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about Red," said Blue, seemingly reading my mind. "I mean, I'm worried about her but … well, we're kinda born to this job in a way. Our parents are employees. Our aunts and uncles. If anyone's safe, we are, unless they know about…." He made a little finger gesture toward me. Right, I was the weakest link.

"How high up are your family members?" I asked, trying to drown the growing paranoia that these guys were out to get me.

"Not high," said Blue with a dismissive shake of the head. "Lower management, boring jobs, boring people. None of us were very close to our families so shaking them off isn't going to be a big sacrifice."

I didn't want to hear about the sad lives of Murkoff employees. If I managed to blow this whole thing wide open then we'd all likely sink with it, especially them. It also reminded me of all the dead men I left behind in the asylum. Flickers of memory, visions from the Walrider's eyes, reached up from the depths of my subconscious and battered my mind. I remembered the deaths of those who had shot me. I remember feeling like the one who killed them.

I probably was. The Walrider's host is the one who has control, right?

Maybe….

"So what's the plan?" I asked. "Wait until we get sent out _if_ we get sent out?"

Blue looked pretty morose. "That's about it, yeah. Just don't use any fingerprint scanners."

The counter ran out. Shower time was over and the water ceased. I towelled off, glimpsing my skinny body in the mirror. I swear I used to weigh more, have a more athletic build, but I didn't look it now. With the bags under my eyes and the look of subdued horror I seemed to still be wearing, I was starting to look like someone who'd spent a week in a concentration camp. I put on a fresh uniform, hoping to cover up the image and the memories and shoved my little memory stick inside the top pocket as surreptitiously as I could.

"What was that whole thing about women and the Morphogenic engine?" I asked Green in a low whisper. It seemed a logical enough question to ask even if microphones picked it up. They had brought it up in front of us anyway.

Green shrugged. "I'm not really all that familiar with that phrase except for one detail … a few of the facilities can't have women involved because of some kind of womb-based dysfunction."

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse….

"Rumour has it that they suffer lethal phantom pregnancies, probably cancerous," said Green.

So the same process that made the Walrider simply killed women painfully. Considering the lives of many of the male patients in that asylum it might almost have been a relief to die. "How long did that process take?"

Green just gave me a sad smile. "Who knows? They don't exactly provide full medical reports to the medics. I imagine the exposure would have to be either intense, such as getting close to the device, or lengthy. That's how radiation works, anyway."

I hoped it was the device's fault and not the Walrider's presence. The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for a spate of deaths in women and cancers in men wherever I went. Of course the 'pregnancy' question raised another consideration. If I did get out of this whole mess, settle down and try to forget about it, what then? Even if the Walrider could be safely forgotten and left idling in the recesses of my mind, could I ever have a normal life? I'd always wanted kids, ideally two, one of each.

Had Murkoff's experimental process removed all chance of that?

They led me to the cafeteria. I wasn't sure if I could stomach any of the food and the simple sign on the doors made me feel sick with the idea of food right up until Yellow pushed open the doors and I was whacked by the sumptuous smell of so much food. Schnitzel, lasagne, good food. I was flabbergasted. Murkoff Industries actually provided their employees with good food!

I almost floated into that very cafeteria, the background thoughts of soylent green and cannibalism largely ignored by my sudden all-consuming desire. It was like something in a fairy tale, or a passionate romance, if all the sexual tension and romantic love were replaced by that single desire for food.

I hurried forward, cutting in line thoughtlessly, all concern for keeping my head down fleeing before the mighty onslaught of food smells. I grabbed up a plastic tray and selected a helping of lasagne, vegetables, salads and a piece of beef schnitzel which I lovingly drizzled with pepper gravy. For a moment I worried that it might be too rich for my blood but it had only been a day or two. My stomach should be fine, no matter what my gangly arms indicated.

I took a seat with my tray at an empty table, hardly noticing the others when they had come through the line to sit with me with their own trays. I was too busy easy. The rough texture of schnitzel…. The thick meaty silkiness of gravy…. The salty crispness of the fries…. The hard shelled softness of roast pumpkin and potato…. It was enough to drown in. It was enough to live for. This meal, this wonderful meal, with me freshly showered made the whole thing feel so much better.

For a few wonderful minutes, I could almost ignore the sensation of my now whole fingers as they gripped the knife and fork, almost forget the agony of their missing nature. I almost didn't hate Murkoff Industries for one long dizzying moment.

But then the meal was done and I was so full my belly ached yet I wanted to keep eating so that the dream could be sustained. Could anything be more pleasurable than food? Anything?

I didn't think so.

Green pushed me a white chocolate and macademia cookie, soft and a little crumbly. "Can't miss desert. Their cookies are good."

I stared at the cookie for a long minute. This was my reward for survival. A damn cookie. It almost brought tears to my eyes that I felt so suddenly grateful for such a damn piece of sugar and flour.

I popped the cookie in my pocket, desperate to maintain some connection to the glorious goodness that was food … and because consuming anymore would require me to visit the toilet for a good old-fashioned Roman puking.

As I sat back, feeling so very full, I felt a wave of exhaustion brush over me. I'd napped on the bus, a long drowsy half-aware nap, but now I felt the need to collapse into full on exhausted sleep. But could I? Would the Walrider come back? Was it still here, aware, watching me? Or….?

I pushed the idea far from my mind.

I had to sleep some time. Might as well be now.

Yellow echoed my thoughts. "After a day like today, I'm gonna hit the hay."

"Very punny," said Blue.

Yellow just gave him a funny look like he didn't understand. "That was a rhyme, not a pun."

"Don't puns rhyme?" asked Blue, genuine confusion causing a break in his quick eating. The man ate almost as fast as I did.

"They might want to debrief us," said Green.

Yellow leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Then they know where to find us." He rose from his chair and I mutely followed him, my whole body numb from exhaustion except for the pleasing yet uncomfortable fullness of my belly. The final walk to the bunks passed by in a blur and the moment my head hit the pillow I fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Again you can put suggestions in the reviews to get them potentially incorporated into the story.**

_I floated on warm air currents, struggling to keep myself gripped together while the air struggled to blow me apart. There was no innate necessity to maintain the structural form but it felt soothing to do so. Innate … yet not. Fluorescent lights and animal flesh kept the place warm, their fetid sweat displeasing to my myriad sensors. The hormones leaked in their sweat lacked the markers I had come to recognise as enemy in my way as opposed to enemy which caused hostilities._

_My mind buzzed. The organic factories with their changed hormonal suite could be utilised to add to my own form or so the documentation did state. Documentation? My mind pulsed with the thought. Simple tweaks and processes. Recordings never did state the cause … experimentation or my own proximity?_

_So hard to gather my thoughts and make the connections between memories, drives, truths. Harder than maintaining my swarm in some semblance of structural integrity. I needed to know … needed to think._

_Door slid open with a faint hissing sound that tickled my form with more air currents and I moved to investigate it. There were two more organic factories, one the enemy that entraps and the other a four-legged thing, hairy, barking, slavering, snarling … a living reminder which triggers thoughts of wet fur, musky smells in cars, and slobbery greetings. Yet now … now I see only teeth._

_I panic, feeling my heart beating (heart?) and each loud beat shudders me and wracks my form as my mind slips backwards and slides away from the swarm which feels lost and alone without me and…._

I sit up, slow and confused, and turn my weary head toward the door. My head aches from the restless sleep. A nightmare, surely, or so I hoped.

Yet the security officer did stand in the doorway, holding a dog who strained against his leash, barking at the air and doing little leaping twists in circles. I tried to swallow but my mouth had gone dry. _Fuck…._ If the dogs could sense the entity then I was well and truly fucked.

"What the fuck?" asked Yellow, propping himself up on an elbow and levelling a glare at the man.

"Hey, don't blame me," said the guard with a shrug. He didn't seem on guard, more concerned. "He's been funny since they started delivering the Variants to our cells."

I winced, gripping the mattress between my fingers to keep from rolling off and hiding beneath the mattress. They'd brought them here? I'd only just gotten away. I might be stuck with Murkoff but that didn't mean I wanted to deal with Variants as well. I didn't…. I remembered the spatter of blood as I had made my way out through that place, cleaning the corridors before me in my sleep. I didn't want to do that again either.

"Terrific," said Yellow.

"Don't that worry you?" asked the guard. "Who knows what they'll bring with them?"

Yellow flopped back onto the mattress. "Well, log your doggies issues with IT and take it out of here."

"You ain't worried about it barking like this in here?" asked the guard.

Yellow just shot him a withering look. "Ain't the first time."

The guard nodded. "Yeah, been like this off and on awhile." He seemed a bit sheepish, opened his mouth to say something, then turned and walked away.

I fell back against the mattress. That was a close one.

I still kinda wanted to sleep under the mattress.

I waited for a long moment, figuring Yellow might hop off the bed and come to interrogate me but he simply rolled over and went back to sleep. I didn't really want to do that. Merging with the Walrider wasn't exactly a calming experience.

On the other hand, it could be an illuminating one.

I did still feel like myself when I was controlling it. I didn't know if it had its own sentience. It didn't seem to thus far but the documentation hadn't given me a lot to go on with the scientists insisting it didn't while the superstitious folk figuring it did. Maybe it could be sentient when it wasn't controlled? After all, it had _chosen_ a new host, though that could've been done by pure instinct to avoid its own destruction.

Maybe I could figure out more about what was going on by using the swarm. I could investigate the other rooms, check on the variants, and gather up even more dirt on this place. I might even figure out how to get out of here. Who knows? Red could still be alive and I might be able to gather up her and the rest of the Colour Team as eyewitnesses.

That'd be neat.

I'd just have to avoid explaining what happened to the Walrider afterward. I really didn't want to become a government experiment after everything I'd seen, funnily enough, especially since there was a chance the American government already had a hand in Murkoff and was just using them as a deniable front company.

I relaxed under the blanket. Right now I was the safest I'd been in what felt like a lifetime. So long as the company didn't figure out who I was then I could actually relax a bit. Eat, drink, sleep…. How much threat was I under anyway? I had the Walrider, right?

The memory of how little that had helped Billy Hope gave me pause.

Okay, best not rely on the nano swarm.

Yet I could swear I felt the Walrider at the edges of my mind, soothing, coaxing, calming. As though it were a mother's hum or a lover's hand caressing my sanity. An assurance that everything would be all right and all I had to do was believe.

I stared at the icon of Murkoff Corporation on the wall, allowing that stinging sense of hatred to counter the creature's seeming gentleness, then I let myself fall back into that twilit dreaming state whereupon I lifted myself into the entity's essence, my consciousness falling into place like the clicking of magnetic puzzle pieces coming together as the Walrider oozed up through the pores of my own skin like a wet shroud before finally pulling itself into that form.

_I poured myself beneath the gaps in the door and moved out into the corridor beyond. Bright lights irritated my visual senses but I withheld the urge to bust them one by one. Not yet, but maybe … maybe. The emergency lighting strips were tucked up between wall and ceiling, may need to tear them free as well. Maybe, maybe…._

_I flowed down past the military bunk rooms to a gym where four women were practising their kick boxing while a man leaking enough testosterone (but not the right kind) to make him valid (for what I didn't know) pumped weights and pretended not to watch. I moved up into the vent, ducking through the grilles and feeling a phantom pain in my sleeping fingers. An imaginary clack of exposed bone against the steel, the ringing of shock blasting up my arm…._

I woke up again and lay there staring up at the bunk above me.

Damnit!

The next day was surprisingly routine. I'd never thought that MHS would lead such boring lives. I watched the Colour Team work out in the gym while I ate my cookie stockpiled from the earlier night. The Walrider's obsession with testosterone made me a little gunshy about working out or doing anything to enhance my own. I made up for my lack of exercise by indulging quite a bit at the cafeteria. Although Murkoff Corporation's profits ran to the billions, I still gained some small sadistic pleasure about food wastage.

I saw the guard with the dog the following day. The dog's name was Jameson. It turned out they were all named after whiskey and scotch brands. The dog was a Doberman and a bit of a sook now that he wasn't able to see (or perhaps smell?) the Walrider. Jameson didn't much like me to begin with but I made a point to go visit him in the kennels when his master, Kenny, offered me the chance.

All of the dogs were pretty friendly once they were off-duty. They seemed to find my smell pretty strange and nearly didn't stop sniffing me but most of them liked me well enough, which was a good sign. I didn't think my moment of friendship would stick when the klaxons rang out and I started killing people but, hey, y'never know.

Besides there was an equal chance they'd sedate my food and I'd pass out without even knowing what had happened, in which case I wanted to enjoy my day by cuddling the doggies as much as I could.

At the very least, Kenny seemed to like me. He was the one who'd come up with the booze naming ideas. Apparently the policy was to call them all by numbers to reduce any feeling of affection between dog and master, but Kenny knew that the bond was necessary for effective collaboration. Naturally MHS administration didn't get the same idea but so far they hadn't really pushed it.

It was kind of sad getting to know Kenny. I wanted to see these guys as a big wave of malevolent bad guys. I wanted them to walk the same, look the same, act the same, speak in that nasty policy bull shit, but they didn't. Most of the grunts were pretty normal. Most of them didn't seem all that happy to be there but the pay was good and this facility, at least, didn't wear its mission statement on its sleeve like Mount Massive Asylum.

I told myself that the people here were different and that the ones working at Mount Massive were the faceless evil I needed to believe, but I knew that wouldn't be the case. Murkoff would disappear disgruntled employees, no doubt, so what else could the average person do once they were ensnared in the net?

I asked about the local gossip and while Kenny didn't seem all that keen on the idea of gossip, glancing up at the cameras as he mulled it over, he did tell me that I shouldn't pay any attention to the ghost stories that've been related about the place. There was a sizable German contingent of staff members here and apparently some of them had brought over their _doppelganger_ superstitions which is where a person is seen in a location, doing what they would normally do, hours before they would be expected to arrive.

I wonder whether the Germans might all be Nazi descendants but that seemed a little farfetched. I knew some of the WWII scientists were protected by America, but a tonne of them? The thought also made me think of Red but her darkish skin tones seemed more gypsy or Mediterranean than Aryan, despite her falling back on German words. I'd imagine Nazi overlords would be a little against non-pure folks.

That day went by pretty fine but the following day when I was dressed up and put on a shift guarding the HR and Marketing block (of all places), I started noticing staff hurrying this way and that and looking very worried for themselves. Naturally no one stopped to tell me what was going on but from what little I had managed to glean the words "wiki leaks" resounded loud and clear.

My contact? Had he or she somehow managed to escape?

I tried not to spend the rest of that day with a grin on my face.


	6. Chapter 6

**-Short one, this time, but the pacing seems to work so I'll leave it at this.-**

I don't know if it was the excitement, the surge in hope, or simply the fact that I was put on alert in a similar company in the very facility that had left me mutilated with a budding corruption somewhere inside of me. All I know is that the static came back, buzzing out of the corner of my eyes like little flickering tongues of shadow. I swear the Walrider was leaking out of the very pores of my skin, especially from my temples, or perhaps seeping out of the corners of my eyes.

I stood at the purge gate which intersected where a yellow line met a dual red line. The yellow line area was some sort of laboratory area where people were investigating new applications for existing preservative chemicals, or so I had heard. Apparently they had some big contract with several other companies in ensuring that biological specimens remained sound.

It reminded me of Billy's tank - _poor Billy_ - and that reminder made my regrown fingers feel like they were on fire.

To make matters worse I stood there expecting to be caught out at any moment. Every time a doctor looked at me funny or an assistant glanced my way I knew, _I knew_, that they had recognised I didn't belong here and then they had moved on. These guys were responsible for major security contracts, how could they not see the fly in their web?

Or the spider … or so the buzzing sensation in my head insisted.

I could tear them all apart, kill them all, I was sure of it. I even wanted to do it. But then there was Kenny and Yellow and that rather helpless female intern who kept struggling with boxes of files out of one of the offices of a "reassigned" scientist and I kept seeing how she struggled not to cry and I wanted to reach out and help her - with a microphone in one hand and a TV crew at my back - but I couldn't and it reminded me that these people were people.

And that just made me angrier.

If there were so many seemingly decent people here, then how could this place exist? How could they cope with it? The "reassignments" were an obvious reason, yeah, but if they all rose up then how could this possibly continue?

Only they wouldn't all rise up. They would obey. We humans did that - _did I still count as human?_ - and the toothy maw-lined shit would rise to the top to take control of everyone here and everything and ensure that this place went to hell like the other place.

Hopefully the Wikileaks prevailed and saner minds took control of the situation, though apparently there were thoughts that Murkoff would simply disinherit that particular sub-company and cut them loose since Mount Massive Asylum was technically a subsidiary company involved in mental health pharmaceuticals and that many people were already calling the filmed footage a hoax because how could anything like that ever exist?

It was unbelievable.

And the news kept calling out Waylon, demanding he step forward (as Murkoff had outed his identity somehow), and they said that his disappearance was proof that he was insane or a nutter or that it was some kind of sick joke, a film student's dreams perhaps, that was faked about Mount Massive Asylum.

I knew all of this because every so often I would close my eyes and the Walrider would surge out and examine the surrounding rooms and overhear their conversations, especially the radio and miniature television kept in the security control room on the other side of the purge gate where some of the others would speak about the situation. The Walrider wouldn't, or couldn't, pass through the purge gate but it could get everyone in the yellow-lined area.

No one seemed to notice my naps. Perhaps I didn't even close my eyes.

I also knew, from a brief eavesdrop in a vent by a meeting room upstairs, that management was already sending dozens of cleaners forth to clean out that place, condemn several sections, and doctor the records so that their patient admissions were a 10th normal. They could then convert the staff sections into patient sections. The plans all seemed good to them, except it was a mammoth undertaking, and apparently the sewers full of gore would be hard to cover up.

None of them were anticipating a full government investigation, however, and their big friends in the media were clamping down pretty hard on the ridiculous notion that such a place could even exist. Both the right and left-wing media were having a field day talking up conspiracy notions or skeptically discreding the finds.

Some family members had stood up and were speaking online, apparently, and that bothered the management and PR people. After all, now wasn't the time to disappear them all though such patient families could be bribed or otherwise convinced to tow the party line, apparently.

I hoped they'd stick to their guns.

This place and places like this had to be taken down.

I just wished I could somehow get my footage out there but I didn't know how far the swarm could range from me and I needed to edit out the Walrider from the footage anyway. If I included that footage, not only would any mainstream person automatically call foul and fake on it, but those who believed enough to consider it would sweep me away into a military research project should I dare to try to prove my connection.

Besides, what if it were true what they said about women being unsafe around me, or at least, the Walrider?

I watched the softly crying intern pass me by once more.

I hoped I wouldn't cause her any pain.


	7. Chapter 7

I stood by the purge gate, feeling little refreshed by the micro naps (or were they longer? So hard to tell). The world buzzed with static, reminding me of my last hours in that terrible place, and my newly regrown (had that really happened?) fingers throbbed. I tried not to show my misery, in case someone enquired about it and I was put into some monstrous headache research program. I really wouldn't put anything past them at this stage.

As I stood there, fighting against the urge to rub my temples, I thought I saw the lights flick on and off (or did my eyes simply close a little too long and reflexively?) and when the lights came on again I saw Red standing there at the end of the corridor wearing a white shift, her red hair long and wet, curls almost straightened by the wetness.

I tightened my grip on my gun (we'd all been given guns, apparently a new thing since the last incident) and resisted the urge to step forward. Was I hallucinating? This all felt so very unreal, as though the edges of my vision were curling inwards. But if it wasn't a hallucination … if she was really there … then surely I should help her?

I tried to call out to the Walrider, seeking it out with my conscious mind, but it wouldn't come.

Apparently I had no connection to it while awake.

My thoughts were jarred, disconnected with a static bloom that cracked within my skull, as a sudden twitch jerked her around until she stood side-on in the T-intersection, revealing one half of her incredibly smooth face. Her skin seemed so flawless, like a doll, that it was uncanny.

My heart pounded against my ribs, my fingers clammy on a gun I didn't really know how to work.

Was this due to some kind of experiment? Was this the opposite sort of facility to the last which mutilated bodies to make them hideous?

I tried to speak, to call out to her, but my mouth was dry and the air seemed to be pulling away from me, making it harder for me to draw in the air needed to speak. It was as though I were surrounded by a vacuum so intense it even curled the light around the edges of my vision.

The woman, Red, my saviour from before, turned her head toward me in a series of tiny jerks. Her eyes cold, near soulless, but when they latched onto me, and it felt almost physical enough for it to truly latch on, they seemed to warm and grow desperate. She reached out a hand toward me in a move so quick I didn't see the motion and her lips curled around the syllables: _Help Me._

And then the lights buzzed on and off again and she was gone.

The door to the Purge Gate control room opened up and another guard stared out at me. "Y'see that?" he asked, face ashen.

I nodded slowly.

"I saw it on the camera," he murmured. "Best not mention it, I think."

I could only nod.

He paused. "You see more than a light flash on and off?"

I didn't say anything as I didn't know the right thing to say, but apparently I was a bad liar because he continued, "Not the first time something like that got caught on camera," he said in a low voice, looking both ways as though expecting the figure to reappear or perhaps a HR representative to jump out of a closet. "Most people only see _them_ through the camera. I don't know why but it's rare to see them with your own eyes. I wouldn't let management hear about it. In fact, I ain't heard anything about that." And with a firm nod, he ended the conversation by shutting the door on me and leaving me out in that corridor.

I drew in a deep breath, released it, drew in another, but was saved from having to do anything by Thompkins arriving to relieve me at the end of my shift. I gave him an uneasy smile, but it must have come across as more ghoulish than intended because he physically recoiled a little from me, and then I walked back to the canteen to pick up whatever meal I was up to. In a world without windows, it was getting a little hard to tell, especially since my sleep was hardly what you would call peaceful and seemed to leave me almost as tired as before I hit the mattress.

When Green came in, he took a seat across from me at the table. For a moment, I could've sworn I smelled burning plastic and corpse-flesh (a flashback from that other place, maybe?) but I was too busy eating to mind much.

Only once I'd finished eating, did I ask Green: "You think we'll ever see Red again?"

"Yeah, she's due back tomorrow lunchtime," said Green.

That surprised me. "Really? You don't think she'll be disappeared?"

"Nah, we've been poked and prodded enough times but we always get released in the end," said Green. "Besides they wouldn't have told me she'd be back tomorrow if she wasn't. They would've simply said she'd been transferred or something."

I wished I shared his confidence. "Have they found Waylon yet?" I asked, changing the subject. I wasn't quite ready to play the hero yet by trying to save the damsel. Perhaps, what if he was right and she was simply getting some routine tests done? I'd feel like an idiot for the few minutes I had left before they stuffed me into some terrible machine.

"No, but I've heard they have brought in his wife."

So there was no easy way out. "Here?" I couldn't help but think of my mother and what would have happened to her had I leaked the information. Note to self: Make it fully anonymous. Or blame it on Waylon who was already screwed.

"I'm not sure," said Green. "I doubt it. There's probably a facility closer to her where they can keep her and trot her out whenever they need to do a press conference saying how insane he is and how good he was at doctoring video footage. I'll bet there'll be certificates in his name from a variety of video editing courses and subscriptions to the software."

What a depressing idea. "Oh."

Green shrugged. "David doesn't always beat Goliath in the real world." He paused. "You always so hungry? You just demolished a schnitzel and a slice of roast beef with all that salad."

I stared at the plate before me that had previously been piled high. If it were really that unusual it would draw attention. I'd best cut down on eating, though I wasn't sure how. I was _really_ hungry and though I didn't notice it most of the time once I started eating I wanted to keep eating for awhile. I don't know whether it was the stress of the traumas I'd faced or something to do with the Walrider. I was willing to bet it was a little bit of both but either way I needed to stop.

"So what are the plans for the next week?" I asked.

"You and Blue are scheduled for D-Wing Laboratories tomorrow," said Green. "They're in charge of psychological testing and will likely be processing those patients picked up from Mount Massive. Don't look so glum, it's a good assignment. Since they normally get outpatients they're pretty close to the windows so you may get a chance to stroll the grounds once your shift is up. I know Blue intends to do so."

"That's something, at least," I murmured.

How many patients did I see on my journeys? And more importantly, how many saw me and could recognise me if I wasn't careful? What if the Twins were there? Could they hold their tongues? Or the various others who were involved in the burning of Father Martin? Static blared through my skull in response to the fear, so I bit my tongue, willing those little glimpses of black smoke itching around my eye sockets to pull back in case it, too, could be caught on the security cameras.

If only one or two of those patients said anything about recognising me then I should be fine as they'd be written off as nutters or I could justify seeing them on the grounds as I scouted around, but if several patients independently stepped forward I'd be done for.

What was I thinking? Even if only one mentioned it, it might be enough to get a closer examination of my situation and my situation wouldn't stand against a casual examination.

What the hell was I going to do?


	8. Chapter 8

Blue seemed a bit more anxious than normal over breakfast time at the idea of spending the day going to the D-Wing Laboratory. All he'd say about it was that he had hoped we'd be out looking for Waylon. The hidden message was clear. Each day I spent here was a day closer to that revelation. The thought should've frightened me more but it didn't. Compared to the Asylum, this place held a kind of numbing monotonous regularity that had thoroughly blanked my brain and numbed my heart. Either that or the torture, the terror and the Walrider had burnt out the fearful parts of my brain.

Hard to be sure, really. I should've been a lot nuttier than I currently was feeling.

D-Wing Laboratory was about as sterile as the rest of this place. The external corridors (with real windows overlooking the surrounding parklands!) were a pale blue with fluffy white curtains and that kind of spongey floor normally used in children's playgrounds. With all the uniforms and suits walking around you'd be forgiven for thinking that this was a normal company doing normal things. It kind of made me wonder if this was even the same company even though I had been picked up from Mount Massive and brought here, as had all of the other patients, which meant that these guys were obviously complicit in it.

I should've been terrified about meeting these guys again. I should've had a panic attack and ran the other way. I'm kind of glad I didn't since I wasn't the only person with a gun and I certainly was the only person who didn't know how to use it. Sure I had a Walrider but I didn't know how often it could bring me back from the dead and I didn't know what it would cost me.

Thus far I was feeling like it had cost me my fear, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

But then I passed a wide interior window with a purge gate on this side in one corner and a regular gate right on the other side. Through that window I could see a variety of patients all in regulation white tunics and pants who mostly had their oozing scabs bandaged and their wounds recently stitched, though that did little for the surgical mutilations scarring their faces, removing their noses and plucking the lids from their dried eyes.

Seeing them there made me shudder and involuntarily twitch backward, and my very skin seemed covered in a million little needle pricks as the Walrider oozed out as a shadow, giving me two sets of eyes with which to see their faces.

There was a weight on my shoulder.

The Walrider roared and leapt through me and to my side, its sound vibrating through my skull and bones, pitched by an adrenaline chaser through my veins. I hurt something hit the wall and slide. I glared down and around, exhausted and slick with sudden sweat.

_Oh shit…._

Blue lay crumpled by the wall in a tangle of limbs with the Walrider hovering above him. One long moment turned into an eternity as I stared down at him, breath held, silently willing this whole scenario to be undone.

Then Blue groaned, unfolding himself in a way that proved he wasn't broken. He blinked up at me, then stared over at the window. "Looks like they're gonna be trouble," he said with a wan smile and a dry cough.

_Thank fuck for that…. He blames them. He doesn't know it was me._

I look around, trying not to be too scared about it, and see that the nearest camera had been tracking to the right at this time to gaze down the other corridor. I quickly grab his forearm and pull him to his feet before it can catch him in its icy photographic stare. I try to will the Walrider back inside me but it won't come.

"C'mon, let's just get to our posts," said Blue, limping his way down the corridor and taking the nearest right.

I see the Twins standing in an open room, dressed in strait jackets and _pants,_ and looking none too pleased by it. They look from the doctor madly scribbling his notes with the nurse hovering over his shoulder. One of the brothers tries to step forward, but they've got chains running from the jackets to a bolt on the wall. The other just looks at him, rolls his eyes. I realised I've stopped in the open doorway, that I'm staring, but I can't look away.

"Should we admit our recognition?" said one Twin in a low voice. My heart rate thunders and I know my fear had been merely dormant and isn't dead at all.

"No. Let us wait and see," said the other Twin in a low, calm voice.

"We shall be our own witnesses."

"Yes, let's."

"This isn't a zoo," said the doctor, suddenly recognising my presence. He clicks his fingers at the nurse who comes over to shut the door in my face.

Blue hustles me along. "Whatchyadoing, man? We gotta keep going with this."

I wished the Walrider would come with me. Later I might want it gone but right now I worried about what it was doing and why it was standing back there. At least I hoped it was still standing back there. I tried to probe its location with my mind but whenever I tried that I felt my eyelids grow heavy and I worried I'd faint.

I was getting a killer headache. This really wasn't any fun.

"Heard anything from Red?" I asked. I don't know why I suddenly cared. As much as she had rescued me, she was one of them, just like Blue was. I couldn't afford to care about them. Once I could get out,_ if_ I could get out, I was going to pull this whole place down on top of everyone. I couldn't risk caring for some wannabe deserters.

Not that the whistleblower Waylon had done much to frighten them so far.

"Yeah, she's fine," said Blue. "She should be back in tomorrow morning."

"You really believe it?" I ask in a low voice.

"They don't mess with us." Blue smiles at me. "Chillax, she'll be fine. They always let us back."

I didn't find his words very comforting.

We go over to one of the other purge gates and Blue leaves me there awhile so he can begin his patrol. One of the doors to a nearby staff kitchen is open and I can hear two people having a chat by the coffee machine while it slowly makes their drinks.

"Do you think anyone will believe that kind of nonsense?" asked a young woman's voice.

"That nonsenses happens to be the point of the exercise," said an older woman.

"Yes, but without a grounding in our particular branch of the sciences I don't imagine … well … I can't imagine the average layperson having the imagination to truly believe what they're saying. Nano swarms? Psychic control fields enhanced by a Morphogenic Engine? Billy Hope? No one would truly believe in it. It should be easy to make disappear as some film student's home horror movie."

"There's still the point of the nanoswarm's disappearance," said the older woman.

I should've realised they'd be looking for their weapon. All that effort, all those hours…. _Damnit…._ Why did the Walrider have to remain out there rather than coming back to me? I rubbed my knuckles against my forehead, trying to blink back the flashing symbols that oozed out of the static that briefly clouded my vision.

"Oh yes, that, personally I think it likely dispersed with its host's death," said the younger woman confidently.

If only they all thought like that.

"We'll see," is all the other woman said.

And then I had to stand at attention and try to keep my body from shivering with fear as they left the kitchen and went about their merry way.


	9. Chapter 9

My feet echoed on the linoleum tiles as I walked into the darkened shower room lit only in a few sporadic places by dimly flickering neon light. I felt tense, like some great weight was constricting my chest, and I kept expecting the drip-drip-dripping sound I followed to lead me to a trail of blood. The air seemed warm, humid - the kind of cloying humidity that filled your nose and throat and agitated your lungs. The agitation spread across his body, making his limbs tingle.

There was a flash of heavy darkness and light. People dancing. White hospital shifts flicking in beautiful motion. Splashes of cold saline water swept out from long hair. Blood-filled tubes from extended wrists like ribbons from a hellish May Day game.

A whispered voice by his ear as he moves further into the shower room. The shadows recede then regrow like a tarnished mirror's image, strangely contorted, sliding like a solid thing. One time they recede he can see her, Red, with hair longer than he remembers and wetly hanging down her back. She held out a hand toward him, motioning him closer. The whisper increased in volume.

The dancing builds and increases its crescendo. I try to scream, releasing a Walrider-roar that scatters them briefly but they dangle from those red-tube-ribbons and fall back into place. I find myself drawn inexorably in toward their dance, surrounded by movement and the flashes of limbs, and though I try to move elsewhere I can't and I feel my swarm drawn by gravity into the crushing thickness at the centre of their dance and when I reach that pole there's an electric shudder that tears through me, making me jolt, severing me from my connection to the swarm.

Her smile could devour the world.

**It's not meant to make sense yet. It will in the next update.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry it's been awhile. I took a break then had to re-orient myself with these characters considering a lot has changed for them over the prison season.**

After their trip to practice with the crossbows, the four geared up to fetch some fuel. As Daryl crept through the woods, he kept alert for any breaking twigs or muffled moan that might indicate walkers. So far, the only walkers they'd spotted were dead walkers shoved into bushes and half buried in the ground. It seemed that Caitlin had herself a little hobby. Most of them showed the usual wear and tear, with a cleft in the head here and there, but he had the feeling that there was more to it than that. She was guiding them down a pretty distinct path and it seemed a circuitous one to take in these old woods.

At some point he'd have to creep out here himself and take a look-see while she was busy holed up in the house. He'd have to have a chat to whoever'd have sentry duty that day. Bound to be something she was hiding around here.

The walk was a long one. The place had been turned over enough that they'd have to camp out here after dark. Caitlin seemed oddly relaxed at that idea while everyone else set up watches and perimeters, tenser than a choirboy's butt hole. She just leaned up against the tree and watched everyone with a kind of bemused look on her face that clearly unsettled Glenn and aggravated Rick. It was even odds which one would snap at her first.

Turned out, it was Glenn.

"There something you're not telling us?" demanded Glenn.

"Nope," said Caitlin. "Don't mind me, I'm just an asshole."

"You enjoying this?" demanded Glenn. "You being all safe and cured and us freaking out?"

Rick quietly stood up and walked over to Glenn, pausing just to say in a firm voice, "Calm down, Glenn," before turning back to his preparations. They had to keep the place camouflaged from any Woodbury types that happened to roll in while keeping the sight lines open for any walkers.

Glenn glared at Rick, but clearly didn't have the balls to challenge him on it. Something about how quiet he'd said it sorta indicated that this wasn't a line Rick'd let anyone cross. He was taking the slow route here. Caitlin was the stubborn type, after all. Daryl didn't pride himself on being a great reader of people, judge of dodgy character sure, but not the inward workings of people. Even he could clearly see the stubbornness inside her that lay about a mile wild. Girl'd probably die before she told her secrets under threat.

Weird thing was that Sophia seemed to have inherited a stubborn streak, too, which coulda been due to their misadventures together or growing teenagerhood, or could have something to do with this so-called cure. Dying and coming back a few days later had to do something to ya. You couldn't come back normal from that, right?

The night passed by relatively easily, though Caitlin didn't seem to sleep much. When she was awake during Daryl's shift, she did much as he did when he was lookout. Rather than pace about and look in all directions, likely drawing threats like Glenn did, or alternately sitting and standing with a kind of strained thoughtfulness like Rick did, she simply made herself comfortable by sitting with her back against the tree and stared across the campsite blankly. For a bit, they just sat there staring at each other, both paying more attention to the sounds they could hear then their limited night vision.

For some reason, Carol kept intruding on her thoughts like a 10-year-old at his big brother's drinkfest. It was damn irritating, the thought of her all lost and hovering, torn between pain and cynicism, so close to her daughter yet so damn far. Hopefully she got over her damn silly complications and just gave her daughter another hug. Might be they all died tomorrow.

'Course, Daryl was hardly an angel in terms of grabbing opportunity. He knew that, but the whole damn thing was more aggravating than not what with Carol trying to reach out to him ever since he'd looked for Sophia. Not that he'd found her. Probably a good thing too.

Girl'd been dead that whole time. If he'd found her, he'd have had to put her down and then Caitlin wouldn't have got to her with this whole cure business.

But how could you cure someone who was already dead a few days?

The next day they packed up best they could, trying to cover up their tracks, and set out again along her damnable circuitous route. At one point, though, she must've messed up because their path passed by something he was pretty sure she didn't want them to see.

A walker lay sprawled down a rock face, its head shattered and smeared down the rock face, one limb twisted around like a fresh green tree branch, not brittle enough to break, not firm enough to resist. The twisting had torn muscle and skin, but not quite snapped the ligaments. It hadn't just fallen, though. It had been attacked then pushed, and likely then had its head slammed into the rock a few times.

He'd seen violence like that before when there were more people around. It was a sign of folks enjoying themselves in how they took out the walkers. He wasn't about to give a damn about it, except for how people who did stuff like that, who took too much joy in taking out the dead, tended to get pretty excitable around the living as well.

Daryl looked sidelong to Caitlin, who had the kind of fake nonchalance that would always twig a cop that they had a hand in whatever was going on. Unlucky for her, Rick was a cop.

"You wanna talk about this, Caitlin?" asked Rick.

She looked down at the broken corpse, and to her credit looked a bit trouble, before that same kinda stormy sullenness crept over her face. She knew she'd did bad, which was more than he could say about some of the others like her he'd come across, but that was almost more worrying. Meant it wasn't a sickness inside her but a lack of restraint. She'd get caught up in the moment and they could all cop it.

Besides, it took a hell of a lot of strength to twist a man's arm like that, rotting or not. Odds are she really did have the kinda strength most people got from taking drugs or being dead where you didn't quite care what'd happen to your own wrist.

"I was frustrated," said Caitlin.

"I hope we don't frustrate you enough for that," said Rick calmly, but watching her with those appraising eyes. If she weren't careful, she'd tip from 'possible ally' to 'take her out' in one fell swoop.

"Living don't frustrate me like that," she said. Then she smiled, "Looked after Sophia just fine, haven't I?"

It was a good button to press. A flicker of guilt crossed Rick's eyes, clamped down on Daryl's heart. She'd done better than they had. Almost enough to get her a free pass, especially since everyone who'd talked to Sophia hadn't found anything untoward in their shared history, if you didn't count Caitlin teaching her to kill walkers.

Hopefully she didn't teach her to kill 'em like that.

"You're right about Sophia but it's a worrying thing to see," said Rick. "It's reckless. I want to take better care of yourself and not toy with 'em like that."

Daryl couldn't tell if Rick was really concerned about her as a person, with the risk to the cure if she got herself killed, or if he was just trying a different tactic to defuse her sullenness. It worked on the latter, though. The sulky look she gave him became a bit more hopeful. Whatever Caitlin had once been, she was now a beaten dog, a stray looking for a home and in that moment, Rick had won.

Rick seemed to sense that, because he simply turned along the rock face and pointed the way they were going, "This way?" When she nodded, he took the lead, and she stayed a step behind, seemingly content to guide him.


End file.
